


parallel phenomena

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Genderfluid Aziraphale, Genderfluid Crowley, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ice Skating, Post canon, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), anthony 'acts of service' crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: Written for the 2020 winter wonderland zine.Aziraphale and Crowley spend an evening in their own private wonderland.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24
Collections: Good Omens Winter Wonderland Zine





	parallel phenomena

Aziraphale has always been entranced by winter skies, especially at night. He loves the way the day's blue eased into a black-blue. The stars were so close, the clouds and moon closer. The chilly air and the vastness of the sky hold the promises of potential, the same anticipation when one opens the cover of a new book, or holds a fork over a new meal; the knowledge that with just one action, one choice, the expectant moment would turn into a cherished memory. Not that he can see the sky at the moment, with the snow-laden trees above, but he still feels it tingling in his spine, the knowledge that this is one of those nights.

The wintery air does not nip at his nose so much as playfully boop it, the frost on the ground makes such delightful noises as they walk together through it. In addition to his usual attire, the angel wears a tartan coat with a scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders, while his companion had chosen a decadent knee-length wool coat that flared slightly into a skirt pattern over their outfit. The long, delicate fingers are bare, which is probably why the hand not holding the skates is tucked into a pocket. Aziraphale flexes his fingers, warm inside his wool glove, and reaches out to touch the ice clinging to a leaf. 

It is only a few more minutes of walking before they come to their destination. Aziraphale gasps, overcome with emotion. The slight path opens up to a lake of some size, frozen over, with icy ground surrounding it in all directions, more silent trees withholding their wisdom beyond that. The snow on the ground glistens, undisturbed for as far as could be seen. There is the slightest breeze, shifting the stalks and causing the lake snow to dance periodically. 

"Do you like it?" Crowley asks, smugness masking the smallest hint of vulnerability. 

"Oh, darling, it's beautiful." He looks around more, soaks it in. 

"Eh, you know, just a chat here, a hiss heard here." Crowley heads over to the bench he expects to see there, and gestures for Aziraphale to sit. Aziraphale does so, wiggling into the wood, and Crowley rolls his eyes– Aziraphale can't see it, but he can practically hear it. Crowley kneels, and Aziraphale straightens up. 

"What, what are you doing, dear?"

"Helping." Nimble fingers begin to unwind his shoelaces, and Aziraphale feels his face flush, remembering the past, when those fingers dealt with other other lacing: corsets, and dresses, his own and Crowley's both, having the gentle feeling of being unpeeled, opened at someone else's pace. Of the show Crowley never meant to make as her fingers worked, never skipping a beat in their conversation.

Now, Aziraphale looks down, Crowley's hair bright despite the late hour, fingers just barely visible as he works. The demon leans back, slides Aziraphale's shoe off. The chill is stronger on his newly exposed foot, but it's a mere moment before Crowley is easing an ice skate on, fingers working in reverse as he tightens it, ties it. There's a shift, and then hands on his other foot. 

Breathing has become harder, and it has nothing to do with the season, or the scarf that feels overly tight now, and everything to do with the feel of Crowley taking charge, the heat of his fingers against his socks, the way he turns Aziraphale's foot this way and that, the strength and gentleness, the precision and tenderness in which he shows his heart. 

Crowley gives one final critical look to each shoe before nodding and straightens to his full height, grinning. "You ready, angel?"

Aziraphale stands, and he's so close to Crowley their jackets are a whisper away from kissing. "Oh, yes. It's been so very long since I've done this." Crowley backs away, towards the frozen lake, and Aziraphale looks at him in confusion. "Oh, but darling, what about your skates?"

"No worries." Crowley turns and steps onto the ice, and by the time his foot settles it's enclosed in a black, glossy skate with red laces. The other foot follows suit. "You coming?"

Aziraphale takes a moment to remember his new center of gravity. His first few steps are tremulous but by the time he reaches the ice, he is more confident. The transition from walking to skating, however, is a bit more awkward. By the time he feels confident to do longer strides, Crowley is far in the center of the lake, spinning in lazy figure eights. Aziraphale takes his time to join him, Crowley won't mind. 

There's a slight scraping sound with each movement of his foot, and Aziraphale enjoys listening to see if it echoes. It's lovely here, just him and Crowley and the night enfolding them in it's solitude. Soho is home, the bustle outside of his shop a background noise that seeps into his very essence, and he adores it. But sometimes it gets to be too much. Sometimes things just don't fit him; his bookshop, corporation, clothes, the city– and when that happens, he never knows how to deal with it. But it was different now, with Crowley free to be with him, and Crowley knows him in a way he doesn't know himself, and so they had packed themselves into the car and driven, and then walked, until they were here. 

And Aziraphale felt– so much. He hadn't stopped feeling since Crowley had tossed his gloves at him and told him to get ready to go. Aziraphale felt– seen and cherished. He felt ready to bust out of his skin with joy, felt ready to curl up content. He skates on inches of ice, unworried of it breaking, because Crowley was here and it wouldn't dare. 

His breath is puffing up ahead of him, and he sees Crowley through it, skating up to him. "Getting the hang of it, then?" Crowley's long legs and slithery hips seem to be made for skating. Aziraphale drinks him in as they separate, watches his muscles shift as he glides along, the way the edge of the jacket ruffles around his thighs, hiding a wonderful sight– 

The other side of the lake is fast approaching. "I don't think I'm half bad at it," Aziraphale huffs out, "although slowing down is proving to be a bit of an issue." Aziraphale tries to get his feet to cooperate, but only results in himself stumbling as he approaches a snowbank. His flailing arm is grasped suddenly and he's spinning, sliding, and supported by Crowley. Aziraphale's hands find Crowley's shoulders, and he smiles sheepishly. "Thank you, my dear."

"Can't take you anywhere, can I?" Crowley's voice is gruff, but his hands are steady where they sprawl: one on a plump hip, the other still on a strong bicep. They are still skating, small movements that drag Aziraphale along. "Come here, got something to show you." They change their grips, one of Aziraphale's hands finding its way to Crowleys and holding tight. The flush along Crowley's cheeks at that moment had nothing to do with the temperature. 

They meander over the ice, back and forth, and Aziraphale notices that their legs, despite the anatomy differences, work in tandem with each other, and he feels warmer than he can remember. The only hint he gets that his quiet reverie is at an end is a wicked flash of yellow as Crowley glances at him calculatingly, and then Aziraphale is slung over the smooth surface. He yelps, focuses on just keeping his balance, and then the force of nature that is Crowley catches him, cradles him, centers him in the middle of the lake. Aziraphale is still off balance when Crowley *dips* him, low and deep.

Aziraphale gasps, and it's only partly from their dance. 

The sky and the lake are endless in his vision, melting together into one in his crossed eyed vision. The stars and the ice twinkle, merry and bright. the air is charged with the devotion between them, the way that two parallel phenomena should never have kissed, and yet they are together, they are whole.

Books of prophecy had always been fascinating to Aziraphale. As an angel, he had seen trends start and repeat, alter and repeat. He had even been ordered to put events into motion, and even with all his experience he hadn't known how humanity would react. To see humans write about their point of view of events, to see their wishes and dreams and hopes put down in a book as wisdom, that was truly their way of living. It was inspiring, to see how they tried.

The angel had never thought he was a good detective, let alone had been gifted with the gift of prophecy. And yet, suspended by his love between two vastly beautiful worlds, he knows exactly what the future will hold. 

Crowley will pull him back up, and they will kiss– Aziraphale will frame those fine cheekbones between his gloves and they will share a handful of breaths and then they will meet in the middle, as they always have, and kiss. Crowley will nip at him, and they will laugh, and share one more soft kiss before continuing their outing.

Later, Aziraphale will be sharing his scarf and his gloves, scolding the demon for not having basic winter necessities. He will bundle the snake up until he's fire-cozy and sleep-soft, will add yet another blanket to their pile. Then they will cuddle together until dawn comes.

For now, he smiles up, lets the light of his heart ease the shadows of Crowley's soul.


End file.
